


Step 12

by spiderfire



Category: Political Animals, The West Wing
Genre: Alcoholics Anonymous, Crossover, Crossover Pairings, Gen, Past Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Recovery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-17
Updated: 2015-12-17
Packaged: 2018-05-07 04:56:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,206
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5444099
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spiderfire/pseuds/spiderfire
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>T.J. Hammond has a conversation with his sponsor.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Step 12

**Author's Note:**

  * For [syllic](https://archiveofourown.org/users/syllic/gifts).



The phone was ringing, trilling up and down in a cascade of bells that he usually liked. Right now though it was too early for that. He opened his eyes and immediately shut them as the sunlight streaming in the window hit them. Groaning, he rolled over and felt for the phone. His hand rummaged around, knocking his glasses to the floor, before his fingers closed on it. Flipping the phone open with his thumb, he rolled on his back. “Hello?” His voice came out in a croak.

“TJ,” John said. He recognized the voice immediately. “Where are you?” 

Squinting, he looked at the clock but his eyes would not focus. 

“What time is it?” he asked, blearily. 

“Noon,” John replied. 

He woke up suddenly. “Oh! Shit. Sorry, I’ll be there in…um…fifteen minutes.” 

“You’re…” John let the question hang in the air. He didn’t need to finish it. TJ knew the rest. 

“I’m fine, John. I just slept late. I was at Cindy’s concert and I took her out afterwards.” 

“Out?” 

“To dinner. Well, we had pancakes so I guess it was breakfast.” 

“Anything to chase it down?” 

“John!” TJ protested. “Just orange juice. We were both good. I promise.” 

“Okay.” John sounded mollified when he spoke. “Fine. See you in fifteen.” 

TJ got dressed quickly. The last thing he did before he walked out the door was go over to his dresser and pick up a bronze coin. His fingers closed around it and he paused for a moment, staring at himself in the mirror. Then with a nod to himself and a flash of a smile, he stuffed it in his pocket and walked out the door. 

On the dresser were neat stacks of other coins arranged in front of a framed picture. The picture showed TJ and Doug flanking their grandmother on a park bench. A giant lilac bush was in bloom behind them. The picture had been taken a month or so before she died, on one of her last good days. TJ looked at that picture every day, struggling to remember anything about the day. Where they had gone for lunch, what he had ordered, or hell, even who he had fucked around with that night? But there was nothing. All he had was the manufactured memories that came from Doug telling him about what had happened. 

The coins were in a line, sorted by color. He had picked up the bronze coin from next to a single green coin. Next to the green coin was a stack of three yellow coins, then four red coins, six gold coins and finally tower with a whopping ten silver coins. They told the story of his struggle with sobriety, a struggle he that he now felt, for the first time in his life, he might actually win.

***

“So, how is Cindy doing?” John asked. 

The meeting was over and they were standing off to the side, nursing cups of terrible coffee, bitter and gritty. 

TJ’s eyes roamed over the dozen or so men and women who were drinking coffee or putting on coats. They were all familiar faces, mostly older than he was. No newcomers this time. He turned back to John.

After the rancorous fight for the nomination which John had lost, he had aged badly. John’s hair had gone grey and his face was deeply lined. Rumor had it that he spent a year drunk before he crawled back out of that hole, but TJ had never asked him about that. There were some lines one did not cross with their sponsor. The result of the last decade, though, was that John was not so recognizable anymore. The regulars at the meeting knew who he was, but he did not get noticed on the street. TJ, no longer a kid, had learned camouflage. 

TJ took a sip of his coffee before he answered. “Last day or two was rough. She was all was all stressed out before her concert. ” 

“And what did you do?” John asked. 

TJ met John’s eyes, “I called her. Every hour.” 

John laughed. 

“I learned from the best,” TJ said with a grin.

“And how was the concert?” 

TJ shrugged. “Not so good, but she made it through.” 

“How long had it been for her?”

“Yesterday was,” TJ paused and thought for a moment, “day 89 for her.” 

“Good for her,” John replied. 

TJ shrugged. “One day at a time. I got a whole collection green coins.”

John nodded and asked. “So how are you doing?” 

TJ paused for a moment, looking around the room. Once he would not have dreamed of keeping the company he kept now. The kind of people who attended AA meetings in the basement of Temple Shalom were just ordinary folks. They wore clothes that came off the rack at Marshalls or Target. Their nails had never had a manicure. Even their idea of top shelf booze was several steps below what TJ had once consumed. 

His eyes settled on Mike. Mike was hopelessly straight, but he was good looking in an unfinished sort of way. His cheap haircut matched the collared shirt that did not quite fit. Once, TJ would not have even noticed a man like Mike, except if he was in his way or had something TJ wanted. However, now, TJ knew that Mike delivered his observations of the world in deadpan, with a wit so dry there that he had once remarked that Mike should serve olives with his jokes. TJ had gotten to know Mike and they often went out for coffee. They were at similar points in their recovery – each of them had become a sponsor for the first time a couple of months ago. 

Mike was talking to his own sponsor - Arnie. Arnie was ancient, with grey hair that had gone grizzly and deep lines in his face. Arnie had been sober some thirty years, but now he had cancer and the constant pain was getting to him. His doctor had offered him medical marijuana and now he was trying to decide if he should take it. 

And then TJ was thinking of Cindy. For the first month, TJ had felt like a fraud. She didn’t seem to need his help. He had been thinking about asking John if he could take on another person when he had gotten panicked phone call a few days before a concert. It was going to be her first concert sober in over a decade and she was terrified. She had called him with the bottle in her hand, and he talked her out of it. He had come over and poured out the booze. He had taken her out for ice cream -- giant sundaes drowning in chocolate sauce -- and then walked her to a meeting. After that, he called her, over and over, and she did it. She made it through the concert sober. Last night was the second concert and, by and large, it was easier, even if her playing was stiff. She had done it and he had helped her. 

TJ took drink of the bitter coffee and looked back at John, flashing him a rare genuine smile. “I like step twelve,” he said.

**Author's Note:**

> This was my first stab at the prompt: TJ happy. For those of you who know me, happy is not my strong suit as a writer. In the prompt, syllic also asked for Sports Night, and then had a long commentary about Sorkin shows. There was no request for John Hoynes, but I thought this would be interesting.


End file.
